by Nicole Snow
“Nah, just getting ready to take Bella for the baby’s checkup. What’s happening?”
I tell him about Granny’s cameras and the red truck heading down the old service road to the lake that runs past the edge of their massive property.
“Thing is, I don’t know how the fuck that tech could just crash abruptly,” I say. “You said it’s state of the art stuff. The kind of gear you’d need to take a bomb to or else clip the right wire...”
“Yeah. Realistically, the only way they can be totally disarmed without the built-in alarm chirping is if someone took the batteries out,” he says. “Stop over here when you’re done with the goats and we’ll check out Big Fish Lake. The only vacant place down that road right now is the old Maddock farm.”
I agree, tuck my phone away, and hustle over to Tory, counting goats along the way.
Something’s off, and it’s not just the bad juju with the cameras going down.
We’re missing a goat.
I recount just to be sure when I only total seventeen before asking, “How many in your head count?”
“Seventeen, but Owl’s in that overgrown area, sniffing around like crazy. I’m hoping he’ll flush out the last one.” She winces, shaking her head. “It’s Hellboy who’s missing.”
“Of course,” I grumble, slapping my thighs lightly.
If there was ever an animal made for trouble, it’s him.
Can’t ignore the worry lining her face, though. Or the ill feeling tossing around my gut.
I lay a hand around her shoulders, rubbing her for comfort. “Owl will suss him out. He could find a chicken bone in a sulfur pit.”
“I hope you’re right,” she whispers back. “I swear, if something happens to that poor stupid goat, I’ll—”
She’s cutoff mid-sentence the instant Owl starts barking.
Not his usual goat gathering bark, either.
Tory starts forward, but I grab her arm, gently urging her back.
“Wait here,” I tell her. “Let me have a look. It’s a mess out there, and we don’t know if—”
“Oh, no,” she replies, bolting toward the dog. “He’s my goat. Keep up, Quinn!”
Damn her cute, stubborn butt.
My feet hit the ground, and it’s not hard to pull ahead of her, leaving her in the dust.
I’d give anything to hear her laughing, if this was just another one of our dumb games, but I know that ain’t it.
Today, I’ll give anything I can to shield this woman who’s got me falling so hard, I’ll never stand up again if I lose her.
17
You Goat Me Dreamin’ (Tory)
Three things I’ve learned about goats by now: they’re curious creatures, they’re cute to a fault even when they decide to be bleating pains in the butt, and they love trouble with a capital T.
But the way the rope is tangled around Hellboy’s curved horns sends an ice-cold shiver up my spine.
An old rope wouldn’t concern me. This one is new.
Maybe Hellboy doesn’t have an innocent bone in his body, but the pitiful little whine he makes as soon as he sees me says this wasn’t his fault.
No way in hell.
The end of the rope caught in the V of a fallen log looks frayed, possibly from Hellboy dragging it through the brush.
Quinn gently folds an arm around the animal’s back, and we work together to get the rope off the goat’s horns and cut away from the log.
“You poor little monster,” I whisper, stroking his fur. “Hang on, you’re almost free...”
A few frantic seconds later, he’s out of his predicament.
Hellboy bumps my arm and bleats, softly but purposefully, as if to say thanks.
Then he turns and scrambles out of the brush, back toward the safety of the tribe.
Something about his woes seem extra unsettling.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve noticed he’s basically become the self-proclaimed leader of the tribe. Who knew goats were such social creatures?
Whatever else Hellboy is, he’s shown his intelligence repeatedly. And to see the black shaggy alpha-goat with the wicked smile almost brought to a humiliating end...
It’s too suspicious.
Something stinks to high heaven.
“Where would that rope come from?” I ask, frowning so hard my face hurts. “The Neumans haven’t used this land in ages.”
“Hard to say,” Quinn replies while wrapping the rope’s remnants into a coil. “Could’ve just been lying around, an old artifact from years ago, maybe. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”
His voice is too level.
I stop and study him.
No way he believes that, and neither do I, yet neither of us say it as we walk to the truck.
I hadn’t pushed him to chase the red truck to the lake, either, because I’m not sure I want to know if that guy is part of Quinn’s past or not.
What happened to him? I wonder. All of those years we spent apart?
There’s this shadow hanging over him, dark with secrets.
No, he hasn’t mentioned anything more about the brother of that guy he’d busted, but I have a pretty keen sense he thinks about it a lot.
The last week has been so incredible, turning my world upside down, I just didn’t want to dwell on it.
Still, the pinholes of darkness in our light are there.
When he thinks I’m asleep, I catch him up, staring into the night.
I see a lonely, faraway look in his restless green eyes, an anxiousness, and I know he’s not thinking pleasant thoughts.
That worries me.
“Before we head home, I need to stop by Drake and Bella’s place,” Quinn says as we arrive at the truck.
“Okay.” I hold open the back door for Owl to jump in the back before I get in the front.
I saw what he was doing.
Quinn was examining the ground the entire time we walked to the gate, and now he’s paying an eerie amount of attention to the gravel road.
He doesn’t say anything when he climbs in the driver’s seat.
Just leans over, grasps the back of my neck, and pulls me toward him.
“You okay, Tory?”
“Perfectly fine,” I lie, flashing him a side-eye. “Are you?”
“If Hellboy’s all right, so am I. I’m in no mood to come here and find a man down—er, goat, I guess.” He gives me that boyish smile then, the same kind he always wore when we were kids.
God.
You’ve got to appreciate just how hard it is to stay mad at him.
I don’t complain when he leans in, delivering a long, sweet kiss. So very different from the storming inferno of tongue and teeth this morning.
As he pulls away and starts the engine, he gives me a wink.
I let out a long sigh as I lean back in my seat, wishing this weren’t so hard.
His kisses, like the rest of him, are unlike anything I’ve ever experienced in all the best, masculine, oh-so-growly ways.
If only his secrets, whatever he’s hiding, didn’t feel equally devastating.
Drake and Bella’s ranch is only a few miles away from the dairy. They walk out of their house as Quinn shuts off the truck.
Bella freaking glows like her skin can’t hold anymore sun. It’s a throwback to how she looked when we were young—petite, pretty, and bubbly as ever—except now she has a round stomach from the new baby they’ll be welcoming into the world in a few months. Their second child.
Her pregnancy wasn’t as noticeable at the rodeo as it is today.
Or maybe she’s just one of those girls who starts showing big-time a few weeks apart.
Confession: I’m a little jealous.
Surprising, really. I’ve never thought of having kids before. My focus was always dancing, dancing, and more dancing. How could I live that dream with a baby to look after?
Whoever said to dream big wasn’t thinking it through.
I’m dreaming as big as it gets—a sudden vision of myself as a mo
ther with one special, achingly handsome Oklahoma snarlypants husband by my side—and it sucks.
Because baby dream collides headfirst with ballet dream.
Because some dreams get so big and overgrown they become binary choices.
And right now, the director job waiting back home with a life and man who trigger my gag reflex feels like a phantom from another life.
Here, in Dallas, the dreams are just different.
I can’t lie. Not when the biggest recurring dream this week includes falling asleep in Quinn’s bed with his inked arms snug around me every night.
Turns out, it also includes looking like Bella one day, with a basketball belly and skin kissed by Athena.
That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?
The pregnancy glow is practically made to communicate happiness to the whole world.
While Owl mills around the pasture, where I see Edison and his mare Edna grazing, we spend the next hour visiting, before we climb back in the truck and head for town.
Uncle Dean’s truck is parked at Quinn’s place when we return, a warning that this day is about to get so much better.
Ugh.
“Finally! I was about to go driving all over town for you, Tory,” he says, flashing me that toothy, disarming Uncle Dean smile.
“What are you doing here? Is this about the goats?” I ask, trying to check my inner bitch and hear him out.
“Well...sorta. I’m supposed to drive you to Bismarck,” he tells me quietly. “Your flight’s tonight, I hear. Your mama called me, said if I didn’t get you to the airport, there’d be hell to pay.”
Okay, no.
Inner bitch activated.
My phone is still on the counter in the bathroom where I’d left it last night.
I bet there are a hundred missed calls and texts from Mother. She’s been eerily quiet the last few days, and I’d ignored the email from Delta with the flight info.
She must be really desperate to have drafted Uncle Dean for roundup duty.
“I’m sorry she called you, but I’m not going to Bismarck, and I’m not going home, Uncle Dean. Not right now.” I shoot him the coldest look I can manage.
Uncle Dean shrugs, clearing his throat awkwardly. He gives me a sympathetic look.
“I’m not supposed to take no for an answer, babe. I know you’ve got issues with your folks—fair issues those damn idiots caused, I’m sure—but they care about you, Tory. They just want you home.”
“Not going,” I grind out while Quinn lays a gentle hand on my shoulder, trying to calm me. “Sorry.”
For a second, we have the world’s weirdest staring contest between uncle and niece.
He’s pissing me off, sure, but I also feel for him.
It’s not fair that he’s been put in this position.
But it’s even less fair that I’ve never had a say in my own life, and the one time I try, they want to force me home?
No.
I’m a grown woman, an adult, and I’m entirely done with Mother’s passive-aggressive brainwashing.
“Tory, if you’ll just hear me ou—”
“Uncle Dean, I’ve been hearing you. No is my final answer.”
Quinn’s fingers tighten on my shoulder, subtly promising backup.
I almost go pale at the thought that he’d need to against a human golden retriever like my uncle.
“Dammit, yeah. I know. Figured you’d say that.” My uncle sighs and shakes his head, unsure what to do. “Trouble is, I—uh...I’m supposed to fire you, too.”
Anger lances through me, and I take a step forward until we’re just inches apart.
“Interesting! I wonder who’ll take care of the goats then? They’re only halfway done at the Neuman place, still plenty of cleanup left to go.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and look down before meeting his gaze again. “If Quinn and I hadn’t gone out there and accounted for each and every one of them this morning, Rent-A-Goat would be up the creek without a paddle, Uncle Dean. Poor Hellboy would be tangled up in a rope—or worse. He could’ve easily wound up breaking his neck or something.”
“That bad?” He winces, a guilty look on his face.
Behind me, Quinn nods for emphasis.
“Yup. He’s fine now, no thanks to us, but if we hadn’t been there in time...” I trail off, watching as it sinks in.
“Aw, hell. You’re right. Guess I’ll have to do it myself, or sell them ASAP,” Uncle Dean replies, kicking at the ground. “I don’t want to. Right now, we’re actually making a profit. It’s not big money, but hell, this is by far the most profitable business I’ve ever had.”
Right, because I’m doing all the work!
I mean, Owl might be the real MVP, and Quinn helps me more than he should, but I’m still the coordinator and the rep who signs off on everything.
That’s beside the point, though.
“Tell me one thing,” I mutter, tilting my head. “Since when do you take orders from Gloria Redson-Riddle-Coffey?”
For a second, he’s a deer in the headlights. Then his brow wrinkles, confusion giving way to spitting anger.
“You know what? I bet she’s kicking her heels up and laughing her ass off right now, using John as a footstool,” he growls. “She sounded so desperate on the phone—real worried for you—but this is just like her, isn’t it?”
It’s no laughing matter, but it’s hard not to smile at how furious he gets, realizing he’s been had.
This is totally out of her playbook.
I’m not upset with Uncle Dean. Not really.
I’m just mad at my parents for believing they can keep ruling my life.
And I’m angry at myself when I should’ve seen it coming. I’ve let Mother steer my ship forever, so what makes me think she’ll stop all of a sudden?
I need to draw a clear, unmistakable boundary she can read. I need to—
“Peach....maybe you should think about going back home.”
Goosebumps prick my skin as I turn and look at Quinn like he’s grown a second head.
What the crap?
“You...you want me back in Chicago?” I stammer.
I’m completely lost. I thought the last few weeks meant as much to him as they did me, but if he’s asking me to cut and run?
Maybe that’s one more fatal flaw in dreaming big.
You’re bound for disappointment.
“No, but maybe it would be best right now,” he says slowly.
“Best for who?”
“You.” He looks around as if he doesn’t want to make eye contact. “You miss dancing. You said you need the right equipment to get the exercise you need for your leg to heal.” He shrugs. “You’ll have all the best stuff there, plus therapists and sports doctors. Nothing like a two-bit studio I threw together with those silks—which I still haven’t gotten a damn net for.”
That can’t be it, this sudden, odd worry over my exercise routine.
There’s something he’s withholding, and I don’t get why.
Anger, hurt, and disbelief erupt in my belly like a dam crashing down.
“I have the right stuff here,” I throw back. “And actually, I think I’m going to take a break from this crap and put it to good use.”
I have to get away like yesterday.
Turning to Uncle Dean, I tell him, “Call my parents and tell them I won’t be on a plane until I want to be. Or don’t bother, Uncle Dean. I don’t care.”
Seriously.
With the cold shoulder I’m getting from Quinn, I’m tempted to hop on a jet to Madagascar and leave everyone behind.
After changing my clothes, I go out the back, not sure if Uncle Dean and Quinn are still on the front porch or not. I’m past caring.
In the barn, I hook my phone up to the sound system, choosing a playlist that should help me focus and find my zen. I have some feels to sweat out.
Like the fact that all I can think about is Quinn suggesting I go back to Chicago.
Ouch.
As the m
usic starts, I go through a series of stretches, loosening my muscles and my mind, then I grasp a bright-yellow silk and work my way up.
Reaching for the second, a crimson one, I grasp it and let my body do its thing.
Clear my mind.
Work through the moves that loosen my muscles until I’m a burning mess of jelly and bone.
It’s so routine I don’t need to actively think about what I’m doing, which is kinda counterproductive to getting Quinn Faulkner and his stupid games out of my head.
If only it worked like that.
Nope.
Of course he’s all I can think about.
I don’t want to be a fling, a mistake, an outburst of passion, but after what he said...
Yeah, I wonder.
Trouble is, it doesn’t make sense, even if the outside possibility exists that he lured me into his bed to blow off some much-needed steam.
If that was all he wanted, he could’ve had it years ago.
Quinn always claimed I was too young, then, though. A young man who only wanted a few red-hot nights wouldn’t have let that get in the way.
And he wouldn’t have taken it slower than a burning candle this summer, after we reunited.
He wouldn’t have stopped with a single beautiful, heart-stabby kiss on the Ferris wheel.
He wouldn’t have been so torn, so conflicted, before we finally gave in and enjoyed the kind of sexy sex you only get in romance books and TV shows where the people are forever gorgeous.
God.
I know who Quinn is.
At least, I think I do.
He’s righteous, strong, reserved, and a tease.
He’s a natural protector, hauling around a heart so guarded I feel like I need a prowler’s kit just to make him crack, to steal the truth caged behind those lush green eyes.
With my mind wandering, I’m not paying attention.
I forget to catch the second silk after a single flip.
Unfazed, I do a double flip instead, barely catching the silk.
“Tory! Jesus. I thought you were gonna fall on your ass and break something!” Quinn has a hold of the silk in his fist, staring up at me. “Haven’t you done enough for one day, lady?”
I twist the silk tighter around one ankle, rolling my eyes.
